Human Sacrifice
by Isee
Summary: An exploration of Riza’s loyalty to Roy Mustang, and his goal. Speculation of the role of human sacrifices.


_This is a rather dark fic. Speculation on how the human sacrifices will be used, probably not accurate in the least. I just manipulated things to put Riza into this situation. Why? Because I'm an evil, evil person. Also some speculation on why Riza chose to follow Roy, in a completely platonic sense. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist._

**Human Sacrifice**

Once, giddy after reading certain books in her father's study that would probably have been considered treasonous if they hadn't been placed under the innocuous categories of "history" and "philosophy," Riza had asked why their country was a military dictatorship.

Her father had paused, rigid, but then he had sighed as if resigned.

"The wars," he had said. "We have a military dictatorship because of all the wars we seem to be having. It's considered a more efficient form of government. People feel more secure." He had then laughed.

"Mark me," he had continued bitterly, "If this country ever stops getting into wars, people _will_ stop and wonder why it is that the military controls everything."

Riza's father had sighed again, resigning himself to something different. His eyes looked away at something she couldn't see. Then he remembered her presence and focused his eyes on her.

"Never stop questioning, Riza. Never stop asking why."

Her father's inability to mask his ideology had probably been a factor in his not getting as many promotions as her mother would have liked. Or maybe it was simply his distaste for the military which he was fated, by family, to join, and succeed in. He eventually reached the rank of Brigadier General. Then he had resigned, his duty done. His wife had to be content with his retirement commission.

Her grandfather was a different story. One never knew what he was thinking. Some took him for a fool, except that he was a brilliant tactician who always seemed to know what to do when the time came.

Once, when she had been cleaning his old, military issue rifle, which he never used anymore, and was not supposed to let her touch, much less fire, he had revealed some of his thinking to her.

"Have you ever wondered why the military ships out soldiers the way it does?"

Riza had looked up to watch her grandfather, playing an imaginary chess game with no one. He moved his rook.

"When I was younger, the military was different. We moved quickly, in large forces. We were efficient. Perhaps too efficient. When there was war, we would drain the cities of military personnel. Everyone went to the front. Many people would die, be sacrificed, but the war would be won more quickly. Then we could resume our daily lives in peace."

His imaginary partner countered with a bishop. He chuckled, as if amused by his invisible partner's wit. He fingered his chin, trying to find a way out.

"Now the military is always understaffed, both in the cities, and on the front. People die, and they must be replenished – at least if one is to continue the war. It's hard to recruit people. They never know where they'll be sent. Don't you ever wonder why it is that a country supposedly at war has so many military personnel clogging up its bureaucracy and patrolling the streets? For all their talk of being understaffed, they don't seem to be willing to sacrifice any of the more unnecessary positions."

He moved a knight forward.

"The military could probably end this war going on right now (1) in a week, if they sent the necessary military personnel to the front. The thing is, I don't think they want to. It's strange. It's like they're bleeding us out, slowly. Not half the people who have died would have died if we had simply moved decisively in the beginning."

He moved the queen of his imaginary partner. He was checkmated. He chuckled again, having been bested by himself.

"Of course, there's the whole morality of the war itself – its beginnings, and how it will end. But that's another story."

* * *

Riza remembered all of this as she sat on the cold floor, watching her superior's body slowly bleed to death.

"Oh, we won't kill him just like that," the one named Envy had said, as if explaining the finer points of pastry baking. "We want him alive as long as possible. We want the blood to be warm, to the very last drop." Here the homunculi had leaned over the pale face of Colonel Roy Mustang. "Six liters of blood. That's the average for a grown male. But you knew that already, didn't you?" The Colonel hadn't answered, but he had instead rasped out:

"Hawkeye."

"Oh don't worry about her!" Envy had exclaimed. "She's right here, see? Safe in this cage. We weren't really going to hurt her, you know? Well, maybe we would have killed her if you hadn't shown up – but it would have a painless death!" Envy leaned in to be face to face with Colonel again, blocking his view of Riza. "If you're good, we might even let her go – she's no good to us, and it's far too late to stop anything now."

With a final grin, Envy had left them.

Riza watched as the blood spread out beneath the bound body of her superior. The blood seeped within a puzzle of an array. She couldn't make out the entire circle yet, but it was certain that he had lost a lot of blood.

What kind of fool threw his life away, and the hope of his country, to rescue a subordinate?

Burying her head in her hands, Riza thought despairingly that it had all gone wrong, it had all just gone horribly _wrong._

Suspended there, in a state of unreality, she picked up the threads of her will again. She was gone, she knew that. Whatever the homunculi had said about sparing her, she knew she wouldn't be. Why had she hesitated before? She had nothing to lose.

She glanced over to the Colonel. With a pang in her heart, she realized he was gone too. Even if she managed to get out of the cage and over to him, untie his binds – probably done with alchemy – staunch his wound . . .

What about Amestris? She still didn't understand what the plan was all about. But was Amestris gone too?

Riza still had a gun, hidden in a holster on her leg. They had taken away two of her guns; they hadn't bothered to check for a third one. This one was small. It was barely bigger than the palm of her hand.

_It's like they're bleeding us out, slowly. Not half the people who have died would have died if we had simply moved decisively in the beginning._

She hadn't moved decisively, not at all. She had forgotten her grandfather's words, from that day when he had played a chess game against himself and lost.

_Many people would die, be sacrificed, but the war would be won more quickly. Then we could resume our daily lives in peace._

Riza lifted her gun. "Sir?" she asked, aiming for his head.

Roy looked to his side, into her eyes. He understood.

"Do it now."

Riza hesitated, but only for a second. She kept her eyes open as she pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot echoed throughou the chamber. Too late, Riza realized the many things he had never known, the things she had never told him.

Blood splattered ten feet from where a bullet had met bone, but most of it pooled beneath what had once been his face, ruining the array.

* * *

_(1) Ishvar. It lasted seven years before the Alchemists were sent in to create a philosopher's stone. The skirmishes at the Western and Southern borders also seem to have been going on for awhile, at the time of the main storyline. It's like they're trying to synchronize, or something . . . don't ask me._

_Because to have his brains splattered all over the ground has always been Roy Mustang's goal (kidding). Of course Roy's immediate goal is to become Fuhrer, but the reasoning behind that is so he can help Amestris. So even if it entails his death, he would sacrifice himself to save his country. Okay? I just know I'm going to be flamed for this . . ._

_On a side note, I think this is the first time I've had a story where the title of the story does not appear in the story itself. But you can infer, right?_


End file.
